


Put On A Show

by KissMyAsh



Series: The Secret-oneshots [2]
Category: The Secret Saturdays
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Argost is actually french, Circus typical stuff, Circus!AU, Cirque Du Bizarre - what a nerd, Find Out Next Time on Dragon Ball Z, Gen, Gypsy heritage, Human! Argost, Human! Rani Nagi, Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Set in the 1900's, not really though?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyAsh/pseuds/KissMyAsh
Summary: Being special was what I was good at– it’s only natural that I was raised in a tent full of unique and peculiar people. Bright lights and tacky clothing made up my world, and I was proud to live in it. The spotlight called to me, and I answered. My name is Zak Saturday, and I’m the poster boy for Lancaster’s Circus Arcana.





	Put On A Show

**_Put On A Show_ **

* * *

One might think being raised in a circus troupe would ruin any chances for a ‘normal’ life, if one did, in fact, think that, they would be wrong. Zak loved it. He loved seeing the bright colors, the smiles on the audiences faces, and his favorite, the attention! His co-workers joked that he had the blood of a true performer– they wouldn’t be wrong. Though, he really just liked making people happy. Every drop of blood, sweat, and tears bloomed into something great! Everything they did was for a cause– one that he was happy to be a part of.

 

He knew it wasn’t the most luxurious lifestyle, but honestly? He had everything he needed. He was never short on food and his family didn’t struggle to find work. The tent was their home, and it’s members were his family. They weren’t like him though- he was _born_ in the circus life, they weren’t.

 

His mom had been an orphan, separated in some freak crime that tore her family apart. She didn’t really like to talk about it. She had been found by the circus when she was nine and they had taken her in as one of their own. His mom had a similar childhood to his, she earned her keep by helping the performers clean up their acts or she would help run the booths. Her circus career had started when she was sixteen, one of the flying trapeze members had hurt themselves and as they say _the show had to go on_. She easily flew through the stunts as if she was made for them, which garnered her very own fanbase.

 

Zak’s mom was famous–  practically a world-wide celebrity–  she was absolutely stunning when she had the floor! Her face all smiles and cheer; not once had she ever failed to charm an audience! Her specialty was aerial stunts: Spanish web, corde lisse, cloud swing, and cradle–  anything relating to gymnastics she had down pat. The result of living with the circus from a young age– something he hoped to master, too. Either way, the crowd ate it up; the thrill of watching someone so high up combined with his mother’s ethereal beauty left them speechless. Until the end that is, after her act completed they would cheer her name so loud it could be heard for miles. Mother Mystic, named for her tribal outfits and ghostly appearance won the hearts of millions.

 

His dad, however, was the one who won hers. Their story was pretty ooey-gooey, filled to the brim with lovey-stuff. He couldn’t sit through it with a straight face– it was like a love scene straight out of one of Aunty Miranda’s novels. His dad used to be a top-dog, a person who had their life figured out, but he gave it all away for mom. He was the heir to some big named company, lots of power and big brains to boot. They were filthy rich– and were constant patrons _and_ had even donated a few grand to get the circus going. Yeah, his dad left _all_ of that behind without a second thought. For his mom. He was so astounded by her act that he just _had_ to meet her– _had_ to court her, and eventually, _had_ to marry her. At first he wanted to take her away from the circus. ‘Give her the life she deserved’, or so his mom teased. His mom refused to leave the circus behind. And just as stubborn, his dad refused to back down, instead he insisted on following her across the continent watching every act and supporting her until _he_ finally wore out. He wouldn’t take something she loved away from her. So he joined the circus. Easy fix, right? Kinda. His adoptive uncle Lancaster wasn’t happy– his dad was extremely smart and practically dripped with potential. Nevertheless, Lancaster’s love for his nephew won out and he accepted his dad’s plea to be with the girl from the circus. His dad was free from the ties that went with the family name and the next day his dad and his mom were happily married.

 

~~_Zak happened somewhere between those lines but he wasn’t told that story, yet._ ~~

 

Dad, despite not being one of the flashier acts, wasn’t anything to scoff at either; he was a strongman. Sure, the concept wasn’t to die for but when he was out there–  when he performed unimaginable things that you could only read about in _Superman_ comics–  his father was a legend. Strongman Solomon bent _steel_ bars like twigs, he lifted animals twice his weight, _and_ once lifted sixteen men with a single hand. The feats of strength his dad pulled off were unspeakable–  he had only been challenged to prove himself _once_ , the refute of his false strength was easily put to a stop once he stopped a _train_ in its tracks. His father was both admired and feared. Though the crowd was hard pressed to be terrified of a man who did adagio with his wife. Despite his hard exterior Solomon Strong was a big softie on the inside.

 

So, Zak was born to extraordinary parents – but what did it mean for Zak? A lot of things, actually.

 

Zak had big shoes to fill, and he did not disappoint. He was the youngest animal tamer in circus history. _He_ was the main act. The catch- his trademark, or lack thereof- he didn’t use a whip and he certainly never harmed his animals. He just had the ability, the connection, to handle animals. He could understand them, sympathize with them. Imagine his parents' surprise when their toddler had snuck off to the lion’s cage. Now imagine their disbelief to find him unharmed and sitting on it’s back while he babbled what seemed to be nonsense to them. They had assumed it was a miracle and rushed to remove him.

 

But he _did_ always have a thick head, age notwithstanding, so of course, he went back the very next moment they took their eyes off of him. They couldn’t play it off as a fluke, not when he was attempting to teach the vicious animal one of his favorite games. Sadly, it never picked up on the rules of patty-cake but his parents were impressed anyway. Like any good performers examining a new act they tested him, again, and again, and _finally_ they conceded. The animals just _didn’t_ attack him.

 

He hadn’t been stage worthy then, talent didn’t just appear you know–  he worked for it. Every minute he wasn’t helping out around the circus he spent with the animals. He spoke with them, played with them, guided them. Eventually there stopped being a line drawn between ‘animal’ and ‘friend’.

 

When he was eight his ‘gift’ took a turn for the better. His ‘connection’ with his friends grew stronger. He heard them–  he _understood_ them–  so he listened. Zak figured out how to communicate with them.

 

His tenth birthday was the debut of animal tamer Cryptid-Kid.

 

Granted, he was extremely nervous during his first show. The tent had been filled with spectators and he was set to go on after his _mom_ of all people. It was equally mortifying and terrifying.

 

His introduction had been even worse; his mom had _took_ the mic. Sure she was ecstatic, her son _was_ following his parents' footsteps. Still, she didn’t _have_ to tell the tent that it was his birthday and first show in one sentence. His mom had dashed his reputation before he could even build it. The ‘momma’s boy’ tease had stayed on the crowd's tongue for months!

 

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, boy’s and girl’s of all ages- you are in for a treat! We have a special appearance tonight, Lancaster’s Circus Arcanas’ very own Zak Saturday, who, by the way, is my charming baby boy.” His mom had greeted the audience with a giggle in her voice, “Be sure to give him a warm welcome, it is his birthday after all!”_

 

After hearing his opening he almost turned tail to hide in his parent’s trailer. He was caught by Fiskerton, an unidentified species of gorilla that they had saved a few years ago from a burning forest. Fiskerton had become somewhat of a brother to him– Fisk liked copying human behavior and he could, after a little schooling, understand most of the human language. He was working on teaching the furry giant sign language– so he could communicate with others. The gorilla had clicked its tongue at him and placed him on its broad shoulders easily carrying him out into the open space of the tent.

 

The crowd had received him well, his entrance given with loud cheers and frightened gasps. He had struggled to resist the urge to bury his face in Fisk's light-colored fur as all eyes were drawn to him. But he didn’t- and that was the important part. He had been very brave, so told his father, when he scaled down Fiskerton’s lanky frame and gave a slightly dramatic bow. His mom had given the mic back to Uncle Cheechoo, the rightful ringleader, and suddenly… _it was show time_.

 

 _“There comes a time in everyone’s life where they have to prove what they’re made of…”_ His dad had told him when he was younger, when he begged to be a part of his routine. His father had turned him down, told him it wasn’t his turn. But now? Now it was, and he wasn’t going to let this chance slip away from his fingers. He smiled as wide as he could, just like he practiced with mom after the crowd had disappeared and the sun settled on the horizon. As long as his smile stayed, so would the audiences’. And not to brag or anything– but he was told he had an infectious smile and enough charisma to rival Uncle Cheechoo.

 

From around his waist he unclipped a retractable staff with a gnarled looking animal hand on the tip. It was a dusty gold color and he only used it for decoration purposes but he decided to give it a name anyway. He called it the claw.

 

Swinging the claw in an outward arc he held it towards Fisk’s face. His friend made a show of stiffening up; his chest puffed out and he hunched over into a more typical ‘monkey’ stance. Fisk let out a short but loud wail. Shuffling a few feet back he laughed joyfully and waved the claw at his friend again, “Dance!”

 

The cat-like gorilla was eager to impress and quickly did as the young boy commanded. Fisk jumped and twirled in a very sloppy manner to recreate the act his mother had done prior. The crowd ate it up. The wariness of having an animal loose on set swiftly vanished as Fisk clowned around. He risked a glance at the stadiums and he swore his smile grew as he saw the children staring in awe. It was time to up the ‘wow’ factor. Snapping, his queue to end the act, Fisk quickly brought his attention back down to him.

 

“Fisk, hammer throw.” The gorilla nodded and began to charge. His fuzzy hands firmly, but not unkindly, gripping tight to the boy before heaving and throwing him as high into the air as he could.

 

His breath caught as he steadily increased altitude. Sure, he had practiced this several times but to do it– in front of a crowd, with the risk of failure– he fought to keep his hands steady as the urge to shake descended on him. It was just like his big sis Abbey said, _it’s all about the appearance, just smile and they’ll buy it_.

 

Inhaling as he reached the peak of Fisks’ throw he quickly ridded the pins and needles from his system. His eyes scanned the entirety of the massive tent. All eyes were on him. The audience, his parent’s, even uncle B who started dragging out his equipment for his escapology act. He couldn’t blow it. He _had_ to stick the landing.

 

As gravity kicked back in and time resumed its normal pace he began to spring his routine into motion. Using his momentum he forced his chest forward and his legs back, tucking his arms around his knee’s he cannon-balled hoping Fisk was in the correct position.

 

And there was a split second where he was _so scared_ –

 

But he squashed the emotion as soon as it snuck up on him.

 

Opening one of his squinted eyes he observed the ever-closer ground fast approaching. Unfurling from his tight ball his knees bent slightly as he saw Fiskerton’s arms move into position. And just like that, Fisk’s hands caught the underneath of his slip on shoes. He, much to his embarrassment, wobbled slightly as he found his center of balance. The gorilla’s arms raised into the air as his knees straightened. Placing on hand on the small of his back and the other tight on his quivering stomach he performed another bow.

 

….His ears burned with embarrassment and adrenaline as the audience shrieked in amusement. And he couldn’t help it, his body shook with contained laughter. Picking his face back up he flashed the patrons a blinding smile filled with excitement and happiness.

 

He would _never_ forget the thrill.

 

The warm, tight feeling in his chest never went away; no matter how many performances he completed the _rush_ –  the exhilaration–  it _never_ faded.

 

And that’s how Zak lived his life. It was fast-paced and filled with risk, yes. But what mattered is that he was happy, and the circus was booming, and that the audience never got enough. They were on top of the world–  the _best_ of the best. No competition stood a chance… until Cirque Du Bizarre came along…

 

No one had saw it coming, there was no news about it– or any backstreet gossip his mom warned him not to listen to. They were completely blind to the threat until it was too late. It was noticed when they received less than half of their normal supporters on show night.

 

[Cirque Du Bizarre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVwqkBG0ulE&list=PL5bcbxDSiMv4_byNUJW_-2LjH7BfHzV8-&index=2)

 

A rival circus. It seemingly appeared out of thin air. They weren’t prepared.

 

A small parade had flooded the streets around their set-up location, all of the entertainers were dressed darkly with sinister masks and horrible snarls painted on their faces. Each of them moving with stuttered motions– even the men and women on stilts looked to be tripping over themselves. All of them eyeing the crowd like a cornered animal as they chanted.

 

“ _The dark carnival is in town_.” The parade leader sang as the other marcher’s echoed his words.

 

“ _You better be ready_ ,” a creepy pair of twins giggled and danced, “ _just follow the parade of dancing skeletons!_ ”

 

A woman who hobbled hunched over in a tattered robe crooned along to the twins voices, ” _Full of ghoulish delights around every corner_ – _don’t tell your parents your coming… They just might die of fright!”_ Her voice rasped as she lifted her robes and twirled off into the street.

 

Their parade had bewitched most of the town, calling to the darker side of human curiosity.

 

The ringleader and coordinator was a nasty man called V.V. Argost. His fliers were plastered on every building and completely covered their own modest advertisement. And Zak, he was _young_ and he was _stubborn_ – so of course, he wanted to go check it out despite his parent’s warnings to never go _anywhere near_ it. He thought it was just bitterness, a rival circus, not good for business you know? So he’d go play spy and report what he found and they could get a one up on the competition.

 

He didn’t.

 

Zak couldn’t stomach being in the black tent for more than twenty minutes before he ran out of it.

 

Argost wasn’t _putting on a show_.

 

Argost was hosting a hell viewing. The small segment he saw was enough for him to be sick.

 

The introduction was dark and eerie and not what a circus was supposed to be! There were no smiles, no silly jokes, not even a peep from the scared-stiff audience. Argost rose up from a flash of smoke, bugs, and reptiles slithering around his feet and scattering under the loosely secured flaps of the tent. On his face sat a mask– a pale mask that was carved to uphold a hateful expression.

 

Hate didn’t have a place in the circus.

 

His voice was smooth and honeyed though it was a facade meant to hide the ugly bitterness underneath. The patrons were tricked but he wasn’t –he grew up around masks and he knew how to read them.

 

With his mic an inch or two away he murmured, thoroughly captivating his audience with his dark words, “Greetings and Bienvenue!  I, V.V. Argost welcome you to Cirque Bizarre. I assure you; this will be the greatest night of your life- you won’t want to leave.” He boasted, “I wonder, have you ever seen a circus like mine?” Argost asked the audience.

 

His French accent rolled off of his tongue as the lights dimmed. He was baiting the crowd –a classic move Uncle Chee used often. Not bothering to listen to the answer Argost moved on, leaving his patrons in a puzzled silence.

 

“Boys and girls of all ages –are you ready to see weird? I have come to serve you, astound you with wonders beyond human imagination! These delights are only found in Cirque Bizarre; realize the rarity of your odds! Be the first to see the rise of the bizarre world you turn away from, the greatest show is about to be unearthed!” Argost roared and even without a mic pressed to his lips his voice was clear and washed over each and every person, chilling them to the bone.

 

Most of the speech he struggled to understand, Argost used large and complex words that never graced his mind nor his tongue. Which confused him, this man was obviously well educated yet he was a circus junkie?

 

It was the end of his speech that Zak latched onto, “You think your imbecilic minds can comprehend the diversity of this word? Well, let me tell you, there are things- _creatures-_ in this world that would dwarf your insignificant beliefs. Have you ever wondered how many reptiles insects and other delightful monsters there are for every human on this planet? Now let me ask you… do you understand the intricate workings of the word weird? No..no, dear audience, I don’t think you do. You have not begun to see weird!” His voice rose and wobbled as the lights steadily dimmed. In the pitch blackness of the unfamiliar tent, he grew anxious.

 

His eyes could barely keep up as the strobe lights above turned on. In the flashes of dark and light, he could make out several bodies. Each of them changing poses as the lights flickered. Out of the cluster, one emerged. A tall, buff man that made his dad look like a chump stood at attention. His muscles bulged and every step he took sent vibrations into the ground underfoot.

 

This man was no strongman, _this_ was a monster.

 

The strongman’s meaty fingers looked thicker than Zak’s arm. The bad feelings that he had grew more intense– this man was not normal. Not special, not like him or his family, this man… he reminded him of Frankenstein’s monster. His limbs looked too heavy and his breathing was irregular– there didn’t seem to be much going on upstairs either.

 

The man halted his steps. His wide, red-rimmed eyes glossy seemed to look through the crowd rather than at them. His hulking frame shutter and his mouth opened. Zak flinched as the man released a loud, guttural shriek.

 

Argost took a step forward, his light blue cape flaring at the ends as he took center stage, “This, dear observers, is Munya. He’s the strongest man on the earth–  a terrifying behemoth, isn’t he? Don’t worry he’s firmly under my control, rest at ease dear audience.”

 

Zak was not reassured in the slightest.

 

The audience sat in shocked silence so they let their hands do the talking. Applause rippled through the stands and filled his ears like firecrackers. Normally he lived and breathed for the sound but… he didn’t understand how they could like something as horrific as this. Did they not see that Munya wasn’t okay?

 

Ignoring the crawling sensation that wormed its way up his spine he settled down to finish watching the show. Munya demonstrated the standard strongman acts and he finished with an attention grabber. From the sidelines a car rolled in– fancy bugger, he knew for a fact that the automobiles were expensive, they only came out a few years ago – and Munya proceeded to dazzle the crowd as he hefted the scrap of metal. Normally the strongman would hold the pose before gracefully setting the heavy object down but he didn’t. He threw the car. At the audience.

 

His hand clasped over his mouth to muffle his scream. It was too late. The car crashed into the lower level seats, the ones meant for the disabled and elderly. Risking a glance at the area he allowed a relieved sob to escape from his lips. The stands in that section were empty. No one had been harmed.

 

Zak let his legs give out as he ducked further under the meager cover he provided for himself. If all of the acts were similar to this one he didn’t see himself surviving until the encore.

 

He wasn’t wrong in his observation.

 

The next act was the contortionist. A long, stringy woman with long braids and a sway in her step took the center. She was tall, terribly so for a woman, and her leotard had scales printed on to it. He figured the outfit was simply a part of her aesthetic, but as the dark-skinned woman looked up he froze. Zak met wide, slit-pupil eyes. Her smile was dark as her forked tongue snaked out of her mouth and wiggled in the air. Her name was Rani Nagi, Hindu for the queen of the Naga. Interesting concept but horrific to see in person.

 

Due to his close-up positions, he could _hear_ her bones popping and creaking. Something that _wasn’t_ supposed to happen. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she hadn’t stretched before she came out like a contortionist was supposed to. As she shifted to each new position Rani winced. Her nose wrinkling and her pupils dilating as pain crossed over her face. Just like Munya, her eyes were rimmed red. Her nails too, from what he could see they were short, chipped and colored sickly yellow.

 

Zak recoiled in disgust as she let out a particularly pitiful moan. Just what went on in the aftermath of this circus? If, and only _if,_ his hunch was correct… something _very bad_ was afoot.

 

Now, Zak wasn’t terribly smart–  barely average at best– but for him, his intelligence came from experience. He was street smart, and he recognized those forfeits. Something was _off_ about the circus. Drugs were the biggest possibility but he couldn’t run around and make false accusations.

 

In his moment of hesitation, he accidentally tripped out of his cover and into the center. Thankfully the arena was too dark for anyone to notice him. Or so he assumed– the performer’s eyes had flicked to his hiding spot and remained there. Her chapped lips had curled to reveal sharpened yellow teeth.

 

Scrambling to his feet he quickly rushed out of the tent with his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

 

Clutching at the colorful thin scrap of clothing that covered his chest like a lifeline he didn’t bother to look up to see where his feet took him. Blindly tearing down the dusty road he bypassed several dull colored tents. None of them were familiar–  he was still in the rival territory. It was unheard of, a dull circus. Yet one stood like an eyesore for all to see. And here he was, running around a muted circus like a hysteric traffic cone. _He_ was the eyesore in this situation.

 

Tripping over the hem of his pants he stumbled into one of the larger tents. It was half the size of the main one but it was better lit. Adjusting his eyes to the brightly illuminated space he gasped and fell onto his butt. His heart hammered in his chest as his eyes struggled to drink the sight in.

 

Animals–  several of them, caged and locked head to toe in chains. All of them looked just a little too thin and severely wary. Letting out a shaky exhale he willed his ability to life as he examined the animals.

 

None of them even had the strength to meet his eyes– or rather, the ones that could were too afraid to. The bars were rusted, and their troughs were empty. The cages were lined in fecal matter and gore.

 

He was flooded with hurt and despair. Whimpering he quickly deactivated his gift and wiped his eyes. All of them were suffering. Pushing himself back up to his feet he shuffled over to a collapsed elephant-Esq creature with green fur and long tusks. Reaching between the bars he gently ruffled its fur. It didn’t respond. Sinking to his knees he clicked his tongue in dire need to grab its attention.

 

The elephant remained immobile. He… he couldn’t connect with it. His teeth dug harshly into his lower lip. Unable to stay in such a hellish place he scrambled to his feet. The prickling sensation in his eyes grew worse as he ambled towards the exit. _This_ was not a circus.

 

 _This_ was a nightmare factory.

 

Zak wanted to go home.

 

Where all the tents were all warm, colorful, and teeming with life. Orange was the main color, the Saturday family trademark, so when he spotted a dash of orange in the muted atmosphere he ran for it.

 

Miscalculating the distance he collided head first with the orange blob. Shaking the disorientation from his mind he looked up at the obstacle. Shrinking back in on himself and offering apologies he tried to hurry away to no avail.

 

He had, possibly, bumped into one of Argost troupe members.

 

The man was tall and just an inch or two shy of his dad’s height. He wore brown pants and a dull purplish-grey tunic that brought attention to his flaming hair. He didn’t look angry –or anything like the other performers. He wasn’t shaking and his eyes were a clear blue, kinda like his moms’. He looked aware and he gave off no signs of drug use like the other troupees’. The man had stopped him by placing his hand on his shoulder. Zak _could_ have shrugged him off but that would be rude and his mom would be horrified at his lack of manners.

 

He was raised in a _circus_. Not a barn.

 

“Uh, I’m sorry, sir– I didn’t mean to, I didn’t see you.” He stuttered searching for his words.

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” The man easily returned as his eyes stayed glued to Zak’s hair. It was one of his best features- very exotic. It was part of the reason he kept it long. He was used to the awed stares of the crowd but coming from a rival… it was off-putting.

 

“Kid?”

 

Snapping out of his uncharacteristic timidness he beamed up at the redhead. Extending his hand out he spoke with all the charm of a performer, “Hi! I’m Zak Saturday from Lancaster’s Circus Arcana! You are?”

 

His charisma was infectious. Worked even on the grumpiest of old men. Did nothing to the young adult in front of him. In fact, he even looked a little off-put. That was a self-esteem crushing first.

 

Well, there was a first for everything he supposed.

 

“Sir?” He questioned.

 

Groaning into his hand the ginger scratched at the light shadow that clung to his chin, “From Lancaster’s? I’m sure there’s an unspoken rule about this situation.”

 

Taking a step back he rocked on his feet preparing to run. Taking notice of his flightiness the older man quickly rectified himself, “Look, you seem like a good kid, but you have to scram, fast.”

 

“I know! I just.. Got lost? I didn’t mean to stay for long…” Zak fumbled for an excuse and considering his escape route.

 

“Go past that tent on your left,” The man pointed over his shoulder, “You should see a peanut stand– take a right and your home free.” Nodding he eagerly slipped under the redhead's arm and booked it.

 

“The names Doyle, kid!” Doyle, called out as his feet made quick work of the distance between the tent and the exit.

 

“Nice to meet you, sir!” He yelled out just as he passed by a man dressed similarly to Doyle, the exception being the greenish shirt instead of the dulled purple Doyle wore.

 

“Watch it, brat!” The new guy exclaimed, his voice heavy with a Russian accent as he scolded the running boy.

 

As the tents, and food shack, flew by the remnants of Doyle’s conversation with green shirt got quieter. He was lucky that Doyle found him and not the Russian, who seemed to be berating Doyle.

 

As soon as he crossed the threshold between the dark circus and the outskirts of the town a metaphorical weight lifted from his chest. He never wanted to go back– the kind man with red hair was wasting his time at such a grungy place. Zak hoped that Doyle would come to visit the Arcana– he’d show him what a _real_ circus looked like.

 

If his mom didn’t kill him first.

 

Which, judging by the look on her face as he arrived closer to the start of their fairground was going to be an inescapable fate. Her arms were crossed and she was tapping one foot, her eyebrows twitching as her eyes fluttered back and forth looking for someone –him, more than likely. Groaning he shrunk back behind the last building. He was going to be _so_ grounded.

 

Screaming into his hand with all of his pre-teen hormones he risked a glance from his cover.

 

She was still there, and still angry.

 

Zak Saturday would take his punishment like a man! Gathering his shattered courage he hesitantly shrunk out of the shadows and into his mother’s line of sight. Annoyance –and worry?– shone from her light blue eyes as she charged.

 

“Zak! Where did you run off to?! I was worried sick, and then I got a premonition and I–” That was another thing that gave his mother her stage name. Premonitions. She had some kind of wicked sixth sense that let her _know_ when he was up to something. Many fans often crowded her to ask for a ‘future fortune,’ he wasn’t quite sure how it worked but… it did, so he didn’t challenge her authority often. Today was the exception,”– _knew_ you would sneak off to that bloody circus! I told you to stay away, Zak, it’s no good!” His mom rambled as she attempted to soothe her frazzled nerves.

 

Her fingers found purchase on the tip of his ear and gave it a rather nasty twist as she drug him deeper into their fold, “But you just _don’t_ listen to me, do you! Through one ear and out the other! You’ve been spending too much time with Arthur.” She ranted as he passed by several booths– most of each he would be working for weeks after his stunt.

 

As they passed in front of a light blue tent a pale, scrawny man’s head stuck out, “Call for the devil enough and he will appear. What did chrome-dome do now?” Both mother and son stopped to stare at the spontaneous input. Uncle B was in the middle of entertaining, as shown by the blindfold around his eyes and straight jacket wound around his torso. His clients poked their heads out of the tent to observe the commotion.

 

Blushing as his misgivings were practically sprouted to all of the public he glared at his uncle.

 

Sticking his tongue out he childishly mumbled, “Nunya’.” Before his mother gave another rough twist to his ear. His mom shooed Arthur away with practiced patience as they finally found a decent amount of privacy in front of their personal trailer.

 

“Ma’, maaaa’, mom!” He begged as her grip tightened before she let go. Holding his abused ear he looked tearfully up to the frustrated woman.

 

“Ugh! Erm,” She fumbled, the wetworks always got to her, “Sorry. I’m just frustrated. I told you not to go, young man.”

 

“I know, and I’m sorry– I can promise you I won’t go there ever again.” Zak easily conceded as he shuffled his feet.

 

“Wait..really? That easy?” His mom asked.

 

“That circus, it’s bad. Real bad. I should have listened when you told me so.” He shuddered as Munya’s mindless, steroid filled body flashed across his eyes. More assaulted him– Rani Nagi’s obvious discomfort, the inhumane state of which the animals were kept, the feelings of _despair and pain and fear_ –

 

His breathing shuddered. Swallowing down the lump in his throat he continued, “Something wasn’t right over there, and mom! They hurt the animals, _bad_ .” His eyes stung from his effort to keep the tears at bay. He was nearly _thirteen_ – even if his small statured body didn’t look it. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t be as manly as his dad or uncle in these types of situations.

 

“Oh… _oh_ honey, I’m sorry.” His mom consoled softly. She quickly crouched and wrapped her arms around him, “I know you want to help them, sweetie, I do too but– we can’t. You know that right?” Her voice hummed as he buried his head into the soft cloth of her robe.

 

“Yeah, I know…” He did, really. There were too many red tapes they’d have to cross. They couldn’t afford to do that, and if, _if_ , his claims were wrong they all could get in big trouble. It hurt, a lot, but he couldn’t do anything about Cirque Du Bizarre.

 

They had their own to take care of– he had friends who depended on him, Fisk, Komodo, and the new addition Zon. He couldn’t risk them, they were family. Regretfully he apologized to all of the captives in Argost circus, he just _couldn’t_ help them.

 

He had a responsibility as Zak Saturday: Keep the circus afloat.

 

His responsibility as Cryptid-Kid came second.

 

Pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes he dried any tears that threatened to escape. He had a show scheduled first thing in the morning, he couldn’t let any more people down. The adoring face of their patrons would chase away any more harmful thoughts.

 

Zak had to continue –the show _had_ to go on.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Ash here with the second installment of my Secret-oneshots, which very obviously aren't one shots.. This is more like my Au dump /shrug. Anyway, if you're interested I'll have a post up soon on Tumblr explaining this Au.
> 
> Important to note: Most people don't know about cryptids or think they are fake, so the cryptids are going to be referred to as animals- or "rare/exotic beasts". Zak still has his abilities, just not on the scale of canon. They are more watered down, like in the ben ten crossovers. Annnnd, Drew and Doyles Gypsy blood come out to play in this fic
> 
> https://ashesannihilation.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also, Also, I couldn't link it but https://magentamustang.tumblr.com/ made some awesome fanart for me! On their tumblr is the circus poster for Argosts' cirque Du Bizarre!!


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